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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/22378162">Sign</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka'>yeaka</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Collars, M/M, Vignette</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-01-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-01-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-04-28 15:09:19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>534</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/22378162</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Hank suggests taking Connor off the market.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Hank Anderson/Connor</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>184</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Sign</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Disclaimer: I don’t own Detroit: Become Human or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The car stops two blocks away from the precinct. Hank could use the extra exercise—not that walking two blocks would at all make up for the calories consumed during his breakfast—but Connor doubts that’s why they’re parking so far away. They pull into a spot right outside an omega shop, the windows full of stylized accessories—thick blankets for nests, fancy collars, all sorts of perfumes—but that can’t be it. Connor points out, “You’re an alpha.”</p><p>Hank looks over at him and snorts. “Just noticed, did you?”</p><p>“You’re not currently bonded with any omegas. As we’ve been assigned to android-only cases, there is no job-related reason to stop here. Do you intend to go in, Lieutenant?”</p><p>“I stopped here, didn’t I?”</p><p>Connor blinks and waits for an explanation. Hank seems to be deliberately stalling before giving him one, but eventually, Hank sighs and admits, gaze conspicuously averted, “I wanna get you a collar, okay?”</p><p>Connor blinks more rapidly, simulating his confusion. “Me?”</p><p>“Yeah. Any objections?”</p><p>Connor’s throat is currently unadorned, as it should be—he has no hormones or pheromones to signal any kind of designation. That sort of complicated pleasure is reserved for humans only. He shouldn’t have to tell Hank that. Hank must be perfectly aware that despite Connor’s soft appearance and growing sentience, at the end of the day, he’s just a <i>machine</i>. He reminds Hank, “I’m not an omega. I have no objections to wearing one, but there is no logical reason to collar me.”</p><p>Hank snorts again and shakes his head, muttering, “Doesn’t stop every asshole alpha looking at you like they wanna knot you up.”</p><p>Connor can feel his synthetic skin staining with the appearance of a blush. His plating does feel a little hotter for his embarrassment; another small, Hank-related anomaly he files away for later diagnostics. “I’m obviously an android, Hank.”</p><p>“Yeah, when someone’s facing your LED side. You’re a prototype, not one of those dime-a-dozen android faces that’re everywhere. From the right angle, you’re just another hot guy with more omega posturing than alpha, and I’m tired of every fuckwit we pass thinking they got a shot.”</p><p>Connor’s internal fans kick in, compensating for the heat Hank’s description brings out in him. He wasn’t aware he displayed characteristics for either designation. And he wasn’t aware that Hank thinks he’s <i>hot</i>. Last time he checked, Hank thought he looked ‘goofy.’ Connor can’t help asking, “Do you intend to make it <i>your</i> collar, Lieutenant?” A plain one should do the trick, but one with Hank’s name would be more effective in making it appear that Connor’s <i>claimed</i>.</p><p>Hank doesn’t directly answer. His gaze turns to the windshield, and he shrugs, but Connor analyzes the subtle pink shade to his cheeks and gathers that Hank’s thinking about it. </p><p>Just in case he has a chance, Connor quietly adds, “I’m not opposed to the idea.” Maybe he shouldn’t feel anything, because he has no protocols to simulate this particular emotion, but Connor does feel <i>flattered</i>. Once, it would’ve been only a minor irritant, but now, he thinks it would be an honour to bear Hank’s name. </p><p>Hank just mutters, “Good,” and climbs out of the car.</p>
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